


open flame

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Biting, Canon-Typical Behavior, Electrocution, F/M, M/M, Other, Rough Oral Sex, Scratching, gender neutral WoL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 20:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: There is interest in his own violence.And there is interest in them.





	open flame

**Author's Note:**

> the only concrete fact about the wol is that they are a black mage thats it

He is hated.

No, too soft, not true enough.

He is loathed.

And he's fine with it, it's not as if his reputation isn't at least partially wanted, or no not wanted, but not avoided either.If he wanted to be quiet about his cruelty he certainly could have been. If he wanted his family to like him he would have made an effort. But there's no interest in that. There is interest in noise, in metal, in the freneticism.

There is interest in his own violence.

And there is interest in them.

They're a vicious little thing, and they do hide it. Almost well enough to fool him. Almost.

But now they're here, below him, snarling and snapping, strong and dangerous legs kicking up hard enough that Zenos has to actually pin them down with most of his weight. Their teeth graze and draw blood and it makes both of them grin, he can't keep his smile off of his face, they're high off of the adrenaline.

“Every time?” He asks, just as they squirm their right leg free and he can feel it hook around his waist. With a twist that belays so much strength hidden under their caster robs, Zenos is on his back, head bleeding against the floor, matting his hair,

“Every single time.” They snap, “Unless you want me to hold your hand and pet your hair and-” He flips them back, but the momentum is on their side and he isn't fast enough to keep their wrists down. “Tell you I love you.”

“Do you not?” There's a bark of a laugh, and their teeth sink into the flesh of his neck.

He'd return the favor if there wasn't a mountain of hair to parse through first.

“Piss poor comedian.” They his in ear. “Stick to what you're good at pretty boy,”

“Well enough.” He says, because no matter how much muscle they hide, and how sharp their teeth are, Zenos is a mountain of a man, and flipping them on their back, a hand in all of that hair until their head is the one cracking on the marble. “Are we pleased?”

“Hardly.” They spit their own blood into his face and he licks at what he can.

There is truly no greater flavor then that of their beast.

There's something about it- maybe the Crystal, maybe all of the blood that they've spilled, maybe something of the jungle they were supposedly raised in. There's hunger in it, rage- so much rage.

“My beast is so demanding.” He hums.

Straddles their waist, and they finally still for a moment. He lets go of their wrists, and they don't move their hands, just lay there, idle.

“Well?” They ask. “Are we deigning to rest now?”

Zenos smirks and leans down, bitting at the skin he can see, ripping at the robes when he runs out of room. Scars lay upon scars, such an interesting texture to run his tongue over. Nothing is exceptionally sensitive unless it's fresh and a jagged scar still pink on their stomach is what he choose to focus his attentions on, drag his tongue along it.

There are sounds in their chest he wishes to hear in more earnest but they won't grant him that.

Even after all their little angry trysts, they won't grant him that.

But he can take it if he wants, with a bit more licking. They never complain- not about that at least. About everything else, about how dreadful, how awful he was, that seemed like a given. But not about the coaxing. They like the coaxing. They like making him work for it.

He wants to imagine what gave them that scar when he skims his fingers along it. Someone on his side? Some eikon? Something so much more mundane, a filthy scuffle in an alleyway? His angry vicious beast picking fights that didn't satisfy like he did?

Their staff lies in the other end of the room, flung in the earlier scuttle before he got them on the floor.

He's never been exceptionally fond of mages, but maybe there's something to this on- something that keeps their legs so strong. And he's felt their fire close before, so unlike anything else. The heat would last, permeate.

He digs his thumb down on the scar, pain obvious in the way their face twists.

He smiles.

He does get off of them then, to pull their leggings down, and they waste no time shooting up, hands sliding down the thin space of his armor, resting on his neck before the pull him into a tight kiss, biting through his lip.

He can smell them in the air too before they pull away grinning.

Their palms are split open in sharp lines and their blood, still wet, drips down his back.

Then they snap their fingers and sharp, unbelievably sharp pain shoots through his entire person. He's paralyzed and their palms are still sparking, licks of electricity curling around their wrists and a smile curling on their face.

He feels like every part of him is on fire, white hot, and he sees stars around them.

He'd laugh if he could. He can barely breath now.

His beast, his monster, his only friend, his, his, his-

“Resting again? So dull. I suppose I'm meant to pleasure myself then, is that it?” He's never seen them so elated before, clearly pleased with themselves for their little trick.

Mages- though he's not known many to do tricks with their blood before- just goes to prove how special, how singular the eikon slayer really was. He tries to say something- brain muddled and tongue heavy- but opening his mouth is surprising harder then he imagined it would be.

They lick their lips, his blood staining and dripping down their chin from the kiss.

“You taste better when you don't talk back.”

They tug their leggings down to their knees and reach between their legs. He has a perfect view of them, just playing with themselves. Not at all like the rough fucking they usually get to- they're toying with him.

Waiting for him to regain any sort of muscle control before he can take them like they like.

“If only you've told me how to undo your needlessly complicated armor. Then we could really enjoy ourselves. Alas.”

There is something radiant about their smile.

Utterly celestial.

“Mm- Tell us- Tell us when your tongue works again. I've work for it.” They drip between their legs, down to the marble and he is becoming unbelievably warm again.

“Yes-” It's lisped out but they waste no time pushing their leggings down to their ankles and sitting on his face with out even giving him the time to roll his jaw.

They taste devine and he wonders why he's not done this before- perhaps there's never been time, perhaps he's thought it too intimate- which, granted, they were intimate. In ways others simply wouldn't understand, with teeth and steel and fire, but intimate all the same. This just seemed- pedestrian maybe.

Open mouthed now, lapping at skin in front of them like a starving dog. His limbs felt heavy but not so heavy that they couldn't reach to dig into their hips, to grind them down on his mouth, and they seemed all the happier for it, their dangerous hands twisting in his hair and tugging hard enough for more of that delicious pain to sink through him.

All of this, licking them, biting them, fucking them, it's a reward, he thinks, for being good, for being good for them.

Not that he is, good in any real way, but they must see something in him worth returning too, surely.

Their nails are sharp enough that when they rake across his skin, he feels warmth beed across it, start dripping into his hair. Their legs squeeze tightly around his head, and hard as it is to see their face, he must be doing something right.

They moan for him, and he's glad to finally take.

They spend on his face and licks them through their orgasm until they're twitching under his hands.

He's hard in his armor, he wants more, so much more, to take them, keep them, they could be so beautiful together, they could rule the world together, they could be the world together, they could be anything they want together.

But they rise up off of him, his hands leaving bruises on their sides and little tracks where his nails had dug in.

When he sits back up they're gone.

Until they come back.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me you like it i need the validation
> 
> find me on[ tumblr ](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/licotain)


End file.
